The Red Rose of Manhattan Chapter 12

Bella's tearful accusation was like a stone dropped into an icy lake, sending violent ripples through Ethan's seemingly calm surface.

His fingers gripping the phone tightened imperceptibly, his knuckles going white.

"Lily! Lily Sterling! She's gone! Took the earliest flight out! Said she's never coming back! Uncle! Are you satisfied?!" Bella was practically shouting, then furiously hung up.

The dial tone buzzed in his ear. Ethan held the phone, frozen in place.

His office's luxurious crystal chandelier cast cold light on his chiseled profile, impossible to read. But deep in his eyes, something seemed to crack for a moment before being covered by deeper ice.

Gone?

Abroad?

Never coming back?

These words combined hit like tiny ice needles, unexpectedly piercing the most hidden corner of his heart, bringing sharp, unfamiliar pain.

But years of discipline and control—and his love for Serena—made him instinctively suppress these inappropriate emotional fluctuations.

He frowned, tossing his phone back on his desk, trying to refocus on the critical merger documents before him.

However, the dense text and numbers now crawled like confused ants across the page, impossible to focus on. His mind kept replaying Lily's last look before being taken into custody—

Broken, desperate, filled with hatred but also hiding unspeakable pain.

He irritably loosened his tie, stood, and walked to the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows.

Outside was New York's brilliant nightscape—flowing traffic, flashing neon—but none of it could illuminate the turmoil in his heart.

An unprecedented, out-of-control feeling grew like vines, wrapping around his heart.

Possessed, he grabbed his car keys and rushed out of the office.

In the descending elevator, he called the airport director, his tone brooking no argument: "Find out which international flight Lily Sterling is on. Immediately!"

He reached the airport at breakneck speed, even running a red light, bursting into the international departures hall where the airport director was already waiting anxiously with the information.

"Mr. Frost, Miss Sterling is on flight FX108 to Paris. The plane... took off twenty minutes ago."

Ethan stopped dead.

He looked up at the massive flight information display.

Flight FX108's status showed three cold green characters—

DEPARTED.

He stood frozen in the bustling terminal like a statue that had suddenly lost its soul. All around him swirled announcements in various languages, rolling suitcase wheels, travelers' chatter...

All these sounds seemed muffled, as if through thick glass, distant and blurred.

For the first time, he truly understood what "too late" meant, what "loss of control" meant.

Something important was being violently ripped from his carefully ordered life.